


Sweaters In Summer Squad

by QuantumFeat72



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cutting, Depression, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Frisk, Non-Binary Frisk, One Shot, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:59:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9748013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuantumFeat72/pseuds/QuantumFeat72
Summary: Sans catches Frisk in a Bad Place.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I debated for a long time about whether to post this because its so... personal. But sometimes rereading it helps me calm down when I'm having depressive episodes so I thought maybe it could help someone else? Idk.
> 
> This is pretty much the only fic I'm ever gonna post that I DO NOT want concrit on. Anywhere else, it's more than welcome, but this isn't something I wrote to get better at writing so please keep that in mind if you comment. Thanks for understanding.

[Sans' POV]

Frisk has been a part of your family for almost a year the first time they stay home sick from school.  Tori has to teach, so she asks you to keep an eye on them.  So far, all they’ve done is sleep, but around noon you decide to try and get some food in them.

You knock twice before entering their room, expecting them to still be asleep, bowl of hot soup in hand.  Instead, you see them curled up on the bed, head buried between their knees and... is that a _knife_ in their hand?!

They look up quickly at the sound of you putting the soup down on the nearest horizontal surface, their eyes wide, looking even wider thanks to the dark, _dark_ circles under them.  They move to hide the knife, but not before you spot blood on it.  You’re still several feet away but you can hear them breathing.  You look closer, and you think you see spots of blood showing through the long sleeves of their pajamas.

“kid?” you say, maybe without meaning to, “you okay?”

They don’t respond, instead hugging themself tighter.  You kick yourself mentally.

“okay, dumb question.”  You move toward them carefully until you can kneel by the bed.  You hold out your hand, palm up.  “may i?”

Frisk recoils a bit, before bowing their head slightly and handing you the knife.

“uh, thanks, but not what i meant.” you say, placing it gently on the bedside table and holding your hand out again, “can i see your arms?”

Frisk hesitates for a long moment, searching your expression frantically, eyes even wider than they had been, before they slowly roll up their pajama sleeves.

It’s worse than you expected.  You’d be hard-pressed to find an inch of untouched skin, and all of the wounds are fresh.  “jeez, kid...”

They retrieve their arms for a moment to sign an apology.

“hey, no, it’s okay.  you don’t have to be sorry.  it’s gonna be okay.”  You move to pick them up, completing the motion only when they show no signs of protest, and carry them to the bathroom.  You were expecting them to be shaking, but they’re impossibly still.  Only their stiff breathing reminds you that they’re alive at all.

You sit them down on the toilet and find the first aid kit, digging for something to clean them up with.  “ok, i’m just gonna clean these up and wrap ‘em, ok?”

Frisk nods exactly once and you start wiping the blood away, moving as slowly and gently as you can.  You see now that not all of the wounds are fresh.  There are scars that must be months old.  You try not to dwell on it.  By the time you finish wrapping both arms, Frisk’s breathing has calmed a bit and sounds more typical of a sick child than one in the middle of a panic attack.

It’s hard to tell with Frisk, though.  You put the first aid kit away and look back at them to see that they’re staring absently at the bandages, tracing their fingers over them.  “ready to head back to your room?” you ask.

They shake their head no before signing, _vomit_.

“ah, okay.”  Frisk stands up and opens the lid on the toilet.  You pull their hair out of their face and look away.

* * *

By the time you return Frisk to their room, the soup is much less warm than it had been.  They sip at it anyway, curled up on the corner of their bed.  You sit at the foot of it and try to think of what to say.

“kid...”  They don’t look up, but you know they’re listening.  “...how long have you been doing this?”

They stare down at their soup for a while before slowly placing it on the bedside table and acting out the sign, _Five years._

It takes a minute for that to sink in.  Frisk is _thirteen_.

You stand up and walk to their end of the bed.  They tense up, and you hesitate for a second before getting close enough to hug them.

They lean into the hug but keep their arms to themself.  You don’t want to let go.  _Five years._   You knew whatever they went through before you met them wasn’t good, but...

“jeez, frisk...”

They push you away long enough to sign that they _hadn’t_ for a while, not since you met.  _But..._

You sigh.  “yeah, there’s always a _but_ , isn’t there.  does anybody else know?”

They shake their head before signing, _please don’t tell Mom._

“...don’t worry, kid.”  They look up sharply, surprised.  “...i’d be a hell of a hypocrite, heh...”

They furrow their brows at you, tilting their head to one side.  You tug nervously on your sleeve for a sec before finally pulling it back to let them see.  Their eyes go wide again as they stare at your arm, taking in each scar individually.  “they’re old,” you tell them, “don’t worry.  i didn’t do it for very long.  but, uh, you get my point.” You pull your sleeves back up. “i never told anyone.”

You see their hands move very quickly in what you guess must be the sign for _brother_.

You shake your head.  “no, not even papyrus.”

This time they’re the one to hug you.  You hug them back, laughing a little.  “hey, you don’t gotta worry about me, kid.  i’m fine, okay?  i told you, they’re old.”

They respond only by hugging you tighter.

You ruffle their hair a bit.  “my point is... whatever happens, you’re not alone, okay?  you’ve got us.  and we’re not goin’ anywhere.  so... if you still wanna keep it secret, i ain’t gonna judge you for it.  but i don’t want you to feel like you have to.  i know how it is.  to feel alone.  to keep secrets because you don’t think anyone’d understand, or to protect them, or because... you don’t want them to worry about you.”

Frisk flinches slightly and you figure you guessed right.

“and you know what?  i’m not worried.  you’re the strongest kid i ever met.  i know you can get through this.”  You pull away from the hug so you can look them in the eye.  “but theres no shame in asking for help, okay?  just.  promise me you’ll remember that.”

They nod, retrieving their arms to sign, _I promise._


End file.
